His rifle remained pointed toward the ground.
When he reached the spring, he looked at Caleb.
Then at the water.
"Children," he said in broken English.
Caleb understood.
He stepped aside.
"Take it."
The man's eyes narrowed.
Caleb removed his revolver belt.
He placed it on the ground.
Then he backed away.
"Take the water."
The warrior stared at him.
After a moment, he dropped to his knees.
He drank.
Not greedily.
Carefully.
As if he feared the spring might disappear.
When he raised his head, his eyes were wet.
Caleb had seen men cry after battles.
He had seen soldiers cry when their horses died.
But he had never seen a grown warrior cry over a pool of water.
That frightened him.
The man turned toward the ridge and shouted something.
Within minutes, more people appeared.
Women.
Children.
Old men.
Mothers carrying infants.
They came slowly at first, then faster.
Caleb stepped away from the spring.
A little boy collapsed near his feet.
Caleb caught him.
The child weighed almost nothing.
His lips were cracked.
Caleb carried him toward the water.
The boy's mother followed, sobbing.
Caleb knelt.
"Easy."
He wet a piece of cloth and pressed it against the child's mouth.
The boy stirred.
His mother covered her face.
Caleb looked away.
He knew that expression.
His own mother had worn it twenty years earlier.
The memory came without warning.
A farmhouse.
Winter.
His father's boots beside the door.
His mother's voice telling him to stay upstairs.
Then shouting.
Then a gunshot.
Caleb pushed the memory away.
He had spent half his life doing that.
The Apache village was hidden beyond the ridge.
Caleb had passed within miles of it twice without ever knowing it existed.
That evening, the warriors took him there.
The village was larger than he expected.
Several dozen families lived among cottonwood trees and low stone shelters. The people looked exhausted. Their water containers were nearly empty. Livestock stood beneath crude shade structures.
At the center of the village sat an old man.
His name was Awan.
He was the chief.
He studied Caleb for a long time before speaking.
"You found the water."
Caleb nodded.
"I was looking for my cattle."
Awan's expression did not change.
"You found something more important."
Caleb glanced toward the children gathered near the spring.
"Maybe."
Awan asked whether Caleb was a soldier.
Caleb hesitated.
"Not anymore."
"You were?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Seven years."
"Did you fight Apache?"
Caleb looked into the fire.
"Yes."
"Did you kill?"
Caleb's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
The village became quiet.
Caleb expected hatred.
Instead, Awan asked:
"And today?"
Caleb looked at the chief.
"Today I found thirsty children."
Awan stared at him.
Then he nodded.
"Eat."
That was the beginning.
Caleb intended to leave the next morning.
He didn't.
The spring needed to be widened. Stones had fallen into an underground channel, and Caleb believed the water could be increased if the obstruction was cleared.